Fic: Teacher's Pet (Rachel/Jesse) pg-13
Title: Teacher’s Pet
Author: glasheen25
Characters/Pairings: Rachel/Jesse
Word Count: 1288
Rating: pg-13
Spoilers: none
Summary: Future-Fic. Rachel never was going to be the most easy going of parents. Serves as a sequel of sorts to Bridezilla.
It had been snowing for days now and the sky was hideously grey and forlorn as Rachel Berry-St. James hurriedly made her way into Marymount Elementary School, where she was due to attend the annual parent teacher conference. Hanging proudly outside the kindergarten classroom, the children’s paintings made a colorful display against the stark white of the wall. Unable to help herself, Rachel’s eyes roved eagerly over the artistic endeavors but she stopped short when she finally caught sight of Isabella’s messy offering. Working on craft projects with her daughter, during their designated Saturday afternoon slot, Rachel had always put Isabella’s clumsy efforts down to artistic freedom but now, seeing the careful, neat lines of the other children in the kindergarten class, she wasn’t so sure. It must be an errant gene on the St. James side of the family tree, Rachel decided worriedly, unable to avert her eyes from traveling again to the offending painting. It certainly hadn’t stemmed from her own immaculate gene pool; Rachel herself being a very talented artist. Her paintings had been compared to those of a young Monet, when she was barely six years of age.
“Welcome, Ms. Berry-St. James,” the motherly teacher greeted her, extending a plump hand out in welcome. “It’s very nice to see you. Again,”
The again seemed a little pointed but Rachel brushed a hand stiffly over her blue wool skirt and pretended not to notice. So maybe she did call into the classroom at least three times a week (and maybe the forgotten lunch hadn’t always been forgotten) but then, Jesse always did say that Rachel was a touch neurotic when it came to their daughter.
“Now may I just begin by saying that Izzy is getting along famously in the kindergarten class,” the teacher beamed, guiding Rachel to the waiting seat in front of her desk.
Rachel’s face reddened visibly at that. “I’d rather that you’d address my daughter by her full name as specified on the enrollment form. It’s just that when she eventually embarks on her career on the stage, the name Isabella will serve her so much better,”
This was all Jesse’s fault, Rachel fumed, tapping a note efficiently into her cell phone to remind herself to bring this up with Jesse later. Isabella Berry-St. James would look good in lights and Rachel had chosen the name specifically for that purpose. Jesse, however regularly shortened it to Izzy, declaring the name to be more suited to their boisterous, dark-haired daughter.
Ms. Irwin looked a little startled at that. Probably starstruck, Rachel considered a little sympathetically. But then, if she had to teach thirty-odd screaming five-year-olds how to string beads onto a thread, she’d been dreaming of a life of the stage too.
“Izzy, I mean Isabella,” the woman corrected herself hastily, her patently false smile rapidly fading. “is a very dedicated student. She has scored very highly in the standardized reading tests and is one of the best readers in the class,”
“Well, that’s hardly a surprise, Ms. Irwin,” Rachel thrills knowingly before smoothing a hand carefully over her immaculately arranged chignon. “I taught Isabella to read The Very Hungry Caterpillar when she was just a toddler. We’re now working on the fifth installment of the Harry Potter series together. I find it’s good way to introduce her to the world of the imagination. Isabella’s very linguistically gifted, you know,”
“Yes, Isabella’s a wonderful child, Ms. Berry-St. James. You should be very proud of her,”
Rachel smiled widely at that. Maybe, when she’s finished her stint as Elphaba at the Gershwin Theatre and has a month or two to spare between television appearances and public signings, she’ll offer her services on Supernanny. Rachel’s expert parenting skills are something that should be shared with the world.
Gracefully crossing her long legs, Rachel looked frankly at her daughter’s teacher for a second. “I hope you don’t mind me saying this, Ms. Irwin and I respect that you have to give a chance to all the children in the class. But it must be said, that I was genuinely surprised to hear that Isabella didn’t win the starring lead in the class performance of Beauty and the Beast last week. When I was in school, I always played the lead. Why, when I was in the first grade, I was recruited to play the role of Fantine in the McKinley Elementary School production of Les Miserables and I was only seven-years-old.”
Ms. Irwin sighed heavily hearing Ms. Berry-St. James gush delightedly about the theatrical prowess of her family. Denial was a powerful motivator, she knew but was Isabella’s mother really so blind (or deaf, as it may be) that she refused to acknowledge the fact, her own daughter couldn’t sing to save her life? Isabella had even made old Mrs. Owens, the music teacher, cry once at her horrific mutilation of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.
“As I’ve already said, Isabella is a very promising student and has made significant gains in her maths and English reading but I don’t really think singing is her forte,” Ms. Irwin began delicately, her eyes straying wearily towards the clock. She shivered at the thought that she could have another ten Ms. Berry-St. James’ through the door before she could finally drag herself out of the classroom that night.
“Impossible.” Rachel bristled, pushing past the shocked teacher and stalking towards the classroom door determined to get home as quickly as possible. She’d have a long evening ahead of her if she were to speak to Principal Williams personally about arranging an internal inquiry into the selection process regarding the lead roles for Beauty and the Beast on top of arranging the obviously much-needed extra tuition to guide Isabella’s theatrical development appropriately.
Arriving home, Rachel practically broke down into tears as she threw herself into Jesse’s waiting arms.
“It’s much worse than we thought,” Rachel sniffed dolefully, as she gazed into Jesse’s quizzical eyes for a minute. “I think you should sit down for this,”
“What is it?” he demanded, taking a seat stiffly at the kitchen table and waiting for his wife to continue. “It’s her math, isn’t it? I knew we should have sent her to that pre-kindergarten math class they were holding in NYU,”
“No, it’s worse,” Rachel admitted, sighing deeply as she forced herself to continue with some difficulty. “It’s much worse. It’s her singing. Apparently, Isabella can’t sing. How is that even possible?”
“It’s not possible,” Jesse agreed gravely, his face deathly pale as the truth of his wife’s revelations slowly sank in.
“We have to fix this, Jesse,” Rachel pleaded, a fresh wave of tears cascading down her cheeks as she considered a life where their daughter would never perform the music from their favorite Broadway productions up on the stage.
Whipping his cellphone off the table, Jesse gave Rachel an encouraging smile. “Don’t worry, Honey. I have this all under control.”
“Hey Kristin. What’s up with you?” he smiled, when his call was finally answered. “It’s Jesse St. James here. Listen, I was wondering if you would do me a favor and give my daughter a few singing lessons?”
It was at times like this, that it was helpful to have someone like Kristin Chenoweh on speed dial.
Author: glasheen25
Characters/Pairings: Rachel/Jesse
Word Count: 1288
Rating: pg-13
Spoilers: none
Summary: Future-Fic. Rachel never was going to be the most easy going of parents. Serves as a sequel of sorts to Bridezilla.
It had been snowing for days now and the sky was hideously grey and forlorn as Rachel Berry-St. James hurriedly made her way into Marymount Elementary School, where she was due to attend the annual parent teacher conference. Hanging proudly outside the kindergarten classroom, the children’s paintings made a colorful display against the stark white of the wall. Unable to help herself, Rachel’s eyes roved eagerly over the artistic endeavors but she stopped short when she finally caught sight of Isabella’s messy offering. Working on craft projects with her daughter, during their designated Saturday afternoon slot, Rachel had always put Isabella’s clumsy efforts down to artistic freedom but now, seeing the careful, neat lines of the other children in the kindergarten class, she wasn’t so sure. It must be an errant gene on the St. James side of the family tree, Rachel decided worriedly, unable to avert her eyes from traveling again to the offending painting. It certainly hadn’t stemmed from her own immaculate gene pool; Rachel herself being a very talented artist. Her paintings had been compared to those of a young Monet, when she was barely six years of age.
“Welcome, Ms. Berry-St. James,” the motherly teacher greeted her, extending a plump hand out in welcome. “It’s very nice to see you. Again,”
The again seemed a little pointed but Rachel brushed a hand stiffly over her blue wool skirt and pretended not to notice. So maybe she did call into the classroom at least three times a week (and maybe the forgotten lunch hadn’t always been forgotten) but then, Jesse always did say that Rachel was a touch neurotic when it came to their daughter.
“Now may I just begin by saying that Izzy is getting along famously in the kindergarten class,” the teacher beamed, guiding Rachel to the waiting seat in front of her desk.
Rachel’s face reddened visibly at that. “I’d rather that you’d address my daughter by her full name as specified on the enrollment form. It’s just that when she eventually embarks on her career on the stage, the name Isabella will serve her so much better,”
This was all Jesse’s fault, Rachel fumed, tapping a note efficiently into her cell phone to remind herself to bring this up with Jesse later. Isabella Berry-St. James would look good in lights and Rachel had chosen the name specifically for that purpose. Jesse, however regularly shortened it to Izzy, declaring the name to be more suited to their boisterous, dark-haired daughter.
Ms. Irwin looked a little startled at that. Probably starstruck, Rachel considered a little sympathetically. But then, if she had to teach thirty-odd screaming five-year-olds how to string beads onto a thread, she’d been dreaming of a life of the stage too.
“Izzy, I mean Isabella,” the woman corrected herself hastily, her patently false smile rapidly fading. “is a very dedicated student. She has scored very highly in the standardized reading tests and is one of the best readers in the class,”
“Well, that’s hardly a surprise, Ms. Irwin,” Rachel thrills knowingly before smoothing a hand carefully over her immaculately arranged chignon. “I taught Isabella to read The Very Hungry Caterpillar when she was just a toddler. We’re now working on the fifth installment of the Harry Potter series together. I find it’s good way to introduce her to the world of the imagination. Isabella’s very linguistically gifted, you know,”
“Yes, Isabella’s a wonderful child, Ms. Berry-St. James. You should be very proud of her,”
Rachel smiled widely at that. Maybe, when she’s finished her stint as Elphaba at the Gershwin Theatre and has a month or two to spare between television appearances and public signings, she’ll offer her services on Supernanny. Rachel’s expert parenting skills are something that should be shared with the world.
Gracefully crossing her long legs, Rachel looked frankly at her daughter’s teacher for a second. “I hope you don’t mind me saying this, Ms. Irwin and I respect that you have to give a chance to all the children in the class. But it must be said, that I was genuinely surprised to hear that Isabella didn’t win the starring lead in the class performance of Beauty and the Beast last week. When I was in school, I always played the lead. Why, when I was in the first grade, I was recruited to play the role of Fantine in the McKinley Elementary School production of Les Miserables and I was only seven-years-old.”
Ms. Irwin sighed heavily hearing Ms. Berry-St. James gush delightedly about the theatrical prowess of her family. Denial was a powerful motivator, she knew but was Isabella’s mother really so blind (or deaf, as it may be) that she refused to acknowledge the fact, her own daughter couldn’t sing to save her life? Isabella had even made old Mrs. Owens, the music teacher, cry once at her horrific mutilation of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.
“As I’ve already said, Isabella is a very promising student and has made significant gains in her maths and English reading but I don’t really think singing is her forte,” Ms. Irwin began delicately, her eyes straying wearily towards the clock. She shivered at the thought that she could have another ten Ms. Berry-St. James’ through the door before she could finally drag herself out of the classroom that night.
“Impossible.” Rachel bristled, pushing past the shocked teacher and stalking towards the classroom door determined to get home as quickly as possible. She’d have a long evening ahead of her if she were to speak to Principal Williams personally about arranging an internal inquiry into the selection process regarding the lead roles for Beauty and the Beast on top of arranging the obviously much-needed extra tuition to guide Isabella’s theatrical development appropriately.
Arriving home, Rachel practically broke down into tears as she threw herself into Jesse’s waiting arms.
“It’s much worse than we thought,” Rachel sniffed dolefully, as she gazed into Jesse’s quizzical eyes for a minute. “I think you should sit down for this,”
“What is it?” he demanded, taking a seat stiffly at the kitchen table and waiting for his wife to continue. “It’s her math, isn’t it? I knew we should have sent her to that pre-kindergarten math class they were holding in NYU,”
“No, it’s worse,” Rachel admitted, sighing deeply as she forced herself to continue with some difficulty. “It’s much worse. It’s her singing. Apparently, Isabella can’t sing. How is that even possible?”
“It’s not possible,” Jesse agreed gravely, his face deathly pale as the truth of his wife’s revelations slowly sank in.
“We have to fix this, Jesse,” Rachel pleaded, a fresh wave of tears cascading down her cheeks as she considered a life where their daughter would never perform the music from their favorite Broadway productions up on the stage.
Whipping his cellphone off the table, Jesse gave Rachel an encouraging smile. “Don’t worry, Honey. I have this all under control.”
“Hey Kristin. What’s up with you?” he smiled, when his call was finally answered. “It’s Jesse St. James here. Listen, I was wondering if you would do me a favor and give my daughter a few singing lessons?”
It was at times like this, that it was helpful to have someone like Kristin Chenoweh on speed dial.